


Of A Lion & A Wolf

by sharonscarters



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Everyone's happy, F/M, I may write a short sequel, Jaime and Sansa love each other, Jaime makes Sansa happy, Jaime thinks lesser, Not anti-Daenerys, Open Ending, Sansa and Daenerys will not be in a bitch fight, Sansa has insecurities about her family, Sansa makes Jaime happy, Sansa thinks a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 10:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharonscarters/pseuds/sharonscarters
Summary: Jaime leaves Cersei for the North. Sansa prepares for the winter. Neither of them are ready for the other to enter their lives and change it in ways they couldn't have imagined.





	Of A Lion & A Wolf

“The North is yours,” Jon had said and Sansa knew she only had to do what she had been doing ever since they had retaken Winterfell just without having Jon there to argue with. Admittedly, she was fond of their banter. After so long of being around people who wanted to beat her, rape her or use her, it was nice to just be able to speak knowing that you wouldn't be struck for it.

 

Jon and Sansa were two very different people and they had been through different kinds of torture. Sansa didn't know all about Jon's journey after he left for the wall but she knew he had been through a lot. Jon didn't know the details of her life either, just that she fallen in to the hands of one abuser after another. Though she knew that he still sometimes thought of her as a privileged brat who didn't know true pain.

 

Then Arya came back but even though Sansa tried, she couldn't bring herself to have that sort of chatter with her like she did their brother. Not until they got rid of the ears that heard their every word. If their childhood was anything to go by plus with her newly acquired skills, Sansa knew it was very likely that Arya would hurt her. She knew Jon preferred Arya over her, as did quiet Bran. She had tried her hardest to be a proper lady yet that grew to be the reason her family loved her less.

 

She knew she could never have a loving relationship with Bran ever again, no one could for now he was the three eyed raven, though the Gods knew what that meant. She knew he had not lost his mind though, the doubt had left her head as he described the night of her second wedding with grim detail. She fell into an uneasy sleep that night and woke up with Ramsay's face looming above her, fading yet clear with Stark detail.

 

The nightmares never left, after leaving King's landing, she had thought she'd been free of them but then there was Aunt Lysa trying to push her to her death, the fear of being caught by Lannister men for killing Joffrey as she paraded around as Petyr’s daughter even though she had done no such thing. After that it was just Ramsay or Joffrey or sometimes a demonic form consisting of them both.

 

Even if she managed to push the nightmare that was Joffrey and Cersei's abuse away, she knew Ramsay Bolton would haunt her till the end of her days. She would dream of what he did to her, of what he did to Theon, Theon who had helped her escape, who hadn't dared to leave even when his sister had been in front of him, who had willingly stayed, that Theon had taken her hand and jumped off the roof with her. Forced her to run, risked going back to Ramsay to give her a chance to escape, who had rubbed her back so she wouldn't freeze.

 

Theon who had a lot to answer for as did they all. Theon who stood shivering in front of her, in the place which had been his home and his hell at the same time, crying as he fell to his knees in front of her. Sansa glances at Arya who stood not far, her eyes suspicious but steady as Sansa shook her head.

 

“I left her to die with m-my Uncle, I did not want to… to fall in to the hands of someone more cruel than Ramsay. Yara came to save me yet I could not to do the same for her.” He lowered his head and continued to cry, his shoulders shaking with his tears and the cold.

 

She kneeled in front of him and cupped his face with her gloved hands. “Look at me, Theon.” And she remembered grabbing him and screaming, _Tell me they weren't your brothers!_

 

“There is no shame in not wanting to die, after everything you've been through. You could not have fought Euron and he would have ended up killing or capturing you both. _And_ ,” She forced his chin up. “You cannot save her if you had stayed.”

 

His lips trembled but his eyes showed signs of clearing. She ordered one of the men to take him to a room so he could wash up and rest. Theon followed quietly, glancing around in fear as if someone would jump out and attack him at any second.

 

She watched him go for a moment before standing back up and brushing snow off her dress. She turned and followed Arya as they made their way across the snow to where a few men were gathered around a burning fire under which rested the body of a few men they had lost to the storm.

 

She joined her hands in front of her, pulling down the head of her cloak as she watched the smoke rise above their heads. Littlefinger stood on the balcony above them, watching her in that unnerving way he did.

 

He would burn, she swore it, he would burn. It was not the same courtesy her late husband had received, he was just chewed off pieces in the cellar. It was sickening and sometimes she had balked at the fact that she was able to do something like it. Yet it had felt so satisfying to hear Ramsay's scream, to turn away from him, knowing he would not get to feel the cold breeze, the warmth of a bed or anything other than pain ever again.

 

She shuddered and not so subtly pressed close to Arya. She didn't comment on it and simply watched the fire with a natural calmness Sansa envied. They had both destroyed the enemies of House Stark, Arya had poisoned House Frey, Sansa had killed Ramsay and the idiot himself had killed his father and brother. House Bolton was gone.

 

She caught a man sprinting towards her from afar before he was close enough to be heard and patiently waited as he bent over in front of her, in courtesy or lack of breath, she didn't know. Arya, though, was less patient and knocked his knee lightly with her boot. He straightened up and Sansa saw a mix of curiosity and fear in his eyes.

 

“My lady, you must come at once.”

 

She gestured towards Brienne to follow her as she lead the four of them towards the doors of Winterfell. She stood tall, feeling the crunch of snow under her boots, stronger than ever surrounded by, after a very long time, people she could trust and love.

 

Though her positive thoughts dwindled as she came to see a crowd of people gathered by the doors, whispering of the new arrival. She glanced towards one of the knights and tilted her head at the people. Immediately, he shouted at them and they scattered, leaving behind only the guards and the a man who upon seeing, Brienne took a short step back in surprise.

 

Sansa turned back towards the door and internally copied the sentiment. It was hard for her to tell at first, the last two times she had seen him had been glimpses, the first as Winterfell as he'd taken off his helmet to reveal long hair and had looked exactly like the knights from her songs and the other had been a brief glimpse as she'd left the Queen's solar and he had entered. He looked nothing like the man who had seemed every bit as sheltered and spoiled as Joffrey.

 

Though, if what Brienne had said was true, he had changed and had spent a great deal of time looking for Sansa and then had proceeded to hand over the duty to Lady Brienne. He stood, clad in his Lannister armor, red and gold just like those dresses Cersei looked beautiful wearing, his hair short and cleanly cut, his golden hand pressed against his leg and his eyes which had rested on Brienne for a brief second, now turning to her.

 

Sansa was at a complete loss. Out of all the Lannisters, Jaime was was the only one she didn't know how to read. Tyrion had been kind but felt too sorry for himself even though he said the opposite, Cersei had been more or less, jealous of her, her hatred growing as Sansa grew older and attracted the gaze of more and more interested parties, Joffrey had been pure crazy while Tywin Lannister saw nothing but politics.

 

What did she know of Jaime Lannister? That he was romantically involved with his sister, that he had attacked her father, that he had pushed little Bran out a window. The same Bran who sat in his chair next to Arya, not a single emotion on his face.

 

“I-I think you're supposed to bow.” A quiet whisper broke the silence as she looked to the side to find Podrick ducking his head close to Ser Jaime.

 

Despite herself, Sansa felt amusement twist her lips. “Pod.” The boy looked up, caught off guard at the attention he was receiving before he, in kinder words, hid behind Brienne.

 

Ser Jaime seemed to take the boy’s suggestion and bowed, the clinking of his armor sounding unnaturally loud in the quietness of Winterfell. “My lady. We finally meet.”

 

“Ser Jaime.” She nodded, a brief furrow appearing between her brows before it disappeared. “I must admit, of all the people I expected to see today, you were not one of them.”

 

“Lady Sansa,” Brienne’s voice was right next to her ear. “I suggest we hear him out before doing anything… Drastic.” Her tone was pleading. Sansa knew her sworn shield had an odd bond with the Lord Commander.

 

“I'm not going to have him burned alive, if that's what you were thinking, Brienne.” She heard him shifting uncomfortably. “Last I heard, King Jon and Daenerys had come to an agreement with Cersei. It would hardly be reasonable to kill her brother.”

 

She turned back to him. “Do you have any men with you?”

 

He shook his head. She gave him a once over before sighing. “I'm sure you must be tired and cold from your journey here, Ser Jaime. Podrick, lead him to one of the rooms so he could rest.”

 

Jaime looked distressed. “Lady Sans–”

 

“Not now.” She held up her hand, already turning to leave. “Like I said, rest. We can talk when you don't look near death.” She left but not before nodding at two of the guards to stand outside Ser Jaime’s door.

 

She may not know him but she was no idiot, she didn't care what deals Jon had made, no Lannister would roam freely in her home, not while she was alive. She felt her teeth push against each other as she almost made her way towards Baelish’s chambers, to ask for his opinion.

 

No, she reminded herself, he had nothing left to teach her. Sansa didn't need him. She would deal with Jaime Lannister accordingly and would nip that problem in the bud if she even thought he might hurt her or her family.

 

 

 

Jaime didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

 

He watched Sansa Stark walk away, head held high, so different from the girl he had glimpsed in Winterfell, grinning foolishly at his son. This woman, had dismissed him as soon as he had began talking and hadn't shown any interest whatsoever in his reason for being there.

 

Not a very smart move, he thought but made to reconsider as two guards began to follow him and the squire. He was still stuck to Brienne’s side it seemed as he had been to his brother’s.

 

“Tell me about Lady Sansa.” He watched the boy jump at the fact that he was addressed as he had earlier. He blinked up at Jaime before opening and closing his mouth multiple times.

 

“L… Lady Sansa?” He repeated and scratched the back of his head. “She's very smart and beautiful. Um… the lords and the people like her, more than the King, I reckon.”

 

That was it, the boy grew quiet once more. He certainly wasn't very observant but had given him at least one good piece of information. The people preferred her over the Bastard. He wasn't sure why she was considered smart, Cersei had described her as a bumbling fool, a helpless little dove.

 

She was certainly beautiful, there was no doubt of that. She resembled her Lady mother greatly but it was easier to spot Lady Catelyn’s Tully roots. Sansa Stark, though, she was winter, her eyes were cold and her hair burned copper in stark contrast. He already knew all that Cersei had told him about her would be useless.

 

He slammed the door shut and closed his eyes for a moment before regaining his senses. He locked the door, just in case and took a long bath, the water finally soothing the cold that had set in. How these people survived, he did not know. When he was done, he lay on the bed, his sword on his side and thought of Cersei's anger as she watched him leave.

 

The fury in her green eyes lead him to think of coldness in Sansa's and the cool indifference that was Arya Stark. They had looked quite a pair, tall and short, light and dark, powerful and clever. He already knew he was on thin ice with these people, his family had brought nothing but pain to the North.

 

He fell asleep with the Starks in his mind and the look in Ned's eyes when he had found him standing over Aerys’s body. He had saved a city full of people, he had done a good thing, he knew. Then why did he feel so guilty?

 

He awoke to the sound of knocking and a man telling him that he was to join Lady Sansa for supper. He straightened up, washing his face and sliding his sword back in to its place. He followed the grim looking man down the halls of Winterfell and thought he didn't deserve to stand here, where Ned and the stupid yet brave Robb stood.

 

When he entered the hall, he found the table mostly empty. Sansa must have requested the lords to eat elsewhere to prevent any unpleasant exchanges. The only people present were Brienne, Podrick, Arya and Bran Stark and of course, the Lady of Winterfell.

 

She smiled at him pleasantly and gestured towards the chair right in front of her, a bold move, one he appreciated. She leaned back and took a ship from her glass of wine.

 

“Are you well rested now, Ser Jaime?” She asked as she picked up her knife. He nodded in response as he did the same, the meat gave away easily to his fork and when he saw Podrick struggling to cut his, he realized it was no coincidence.

 

“I think we've delayed my reason for being here long enough, Lady Sansa. And I'm afraid I'm not very good at small talk.”

 

She looked back at him, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Go ahead.”

 

He cleared his throat, glancing at Brienne. “As you know, Daenerys Targeryn and you brother made a deal with my sister that they would put a stop to the war for the throne and that she would lend her forces for the fight against the army of the dead.”

 

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back. Jaime sighed. “I have come to realize that my sister lied, she had no plans of helping in the war.”

 

There it was, he gulped down his wine in one go and waited for her response. He heard Lady Brienne’s murmur of outrage but Lady Sansa sat still, unmoved. She ran gloved fingers across her mouth in thought.

 

“I feared as much.” She said finally, breaking the tension.

 

Jaime wasn't sure. “I didn't know your brother had his doubts about Cersei's word.”

 

“He certainly did not but I did. My brother is quite naive at times and well,” She smiled at him bitterly, though her eyes were far away. “He doesn't know her like I do.”

 

Jaime was taken aback, this was not the response he expected. Outrage, fear, anger at the messenger (him) but Sansa was calm if not a bit amused as well.

 

He was having a hard time categorizing her, she was no girl who dreamt of songs yet she wasn't the stoic and angry Queens that Daenerys and Cersei were either. He could not read her emotions either, he had heard that she had been under Littlefinger's care. Had he turned her in to snake like himself?

 

That reminded him. “Where is Baelish? I'd heard he was staying at Winterfell.” That caught her attention, she looked surprised at his question. Her eyes turned unsure as she glanced at her little sister who returned her gaze firmly.

 

“Attending to some of his matters, he is the Lord Protector of the Vale, after all." She answered, her voice firm. Her tone dared him to question it further.

 

He wasn't stupid.

 

“If what you say is true, then what brings you here, Ser Jaime?” She joined her hands.

 

He swallowed. “I….have left my sister, I could not support her decision of leaving the world to freeze under the Night King. I know you have no reason to believe me and I am more than aware of the pain my family has caused you. I cannot say that I have left behind House Lannister to die but what I will say is that I am here to fight alongside the North in the war to come.”

 

“I am afraid it's not that easy, Ser Jaime.” Sansa leaned forward, “You must swear fealty to the North, to house Stark if you are to fight alongside our men. There is still time before the war is here and I cannot spend it in fear that I, or my brother or sister, will be harmed by a Lannister. You are either with the north or you are not.”

 

She pushed back her chair, leaving Jaime speechless. “You have a week to decide.”

 

Then she turned her back on him as she had earlier. Brienne followed after her a moment later. Jaime couldn't help but stare at her. “Who are you, Lady Sansa?” He wondered aloud. She turned to look at him and he swore those cold eyes could freeze him faster than any Night King could.

 

She left without another word, leaving Jaime to drop his head on the table.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The days passed by quick. Sansa fell into her duties as she usually did and heard no news of any wrongdoings of the King slayer. She had men watch him of course and Arya most likely did some investigating of her own. But in preparing for winter and trying to keep the North well fed and warm, she barely remembered Jaime Lannister until at night when she lay in her bed, thinking of all her enemies.

 

She doubted the man would swear fealty to House Stark, he was a Lannister afterall and a proud man at that. Could he go from being a Lord Commander to fight under someone else's command, a Northerner at that?

 

If he didn't accept which was likely, it would certainly make things easier for her. She wouldn't have to deal with the suspicion and paranoia of him being a spy for his sister or planning to murder her or her family. Even if he wasn't there for Cersei, if he believed, like her, that she had killed his wretched son, it could be enough reason to come after her as well.

 

Of course she'd heard stories from Brienne about how her mother had freed him so he would bring her back, how he had begun his entire journey towards honor after making that promise, Brienne said that no matter what his past, he was a good man.

 

Even if he was, Sansa didn't believe anyone was good anymore. Not her, not her deceased family, not Jon, not anyone. She'd prayed for someone to save her, she'd prayed for Robb, for a random stranger, for anyone, but none came. Promises weren't worth much if they weren't seen through, were they?

 

The next day, she escaped from the great hall and traveled to the wall overlooking the snow. The same place she'd stood with Jon after feeding Ramsay to his hounds, when he'd kissed her forehead and she'd told him, _Winter is here._ She knew Petyr had not been pleased to see them close. It hadn't been a problem for long though, Jon had went back to dismissing her opinions and treating her like an idiot even after she'd won back Winterfell.

 

Winterfell, she sighed softly, Ramsay, Petyr. She thought about how different they were often. Littlefinger had hurt her more, maybe, her family at least, than Ramsay yet he'd never raised his voice at her, his touch had never been cruel, he'd never made her scared. Yet with those same soothing words he'd become the reason for the downfall of her entire family, of her own life.

 

Ramsay, on the other hand, had been vile from the start. He'd leered at her, he'd paraded Theon in front of her, bragged about cutting off his manhood, then he'd kissed her softly with a hand on her cheek on their wedding night (oh how solemn it had been) and she'd thought that maybe she would be able to spend a peaceful life with him, not one filled with love, she didn't dream of such things anymore, but peace.

 

How horribly wrong had she been?

 

Whenever she thinks back to the night, yes she can remember his hand brushing her bare skin, the sound of her dress ripping, the pain of him breaking something inside her but most of all she'd remembered Theon's face, how he had shook, how he had dutifully kept his eyes on them yet she had never seen such horror on anyone's face. Perhaps what was being done to her hadn't set in until she'd seen Theon because it was then she had begun to cry.

 

She shook her head to be rid of the memories as if it was that easy and that was when she noticed Jaime Lannister watching her from the corner of her eyes. He lounged easily against the wall, quiet as a cat, head tilted back. She evened out her breathing, to travel back from the realm of darkness that lived in her head.

 

“Have you happened to make your decision yet, Ser Jaime?” She didn't turn to look him but she felt it as he pushed off the wall and stalked towards her.

 

“Impatient, Lady Sansa?” He came to stand next to her, his form relaxed and at ease. Something in his tone irked her, he always sounded amused, as if he was making a joke that she could not understand. Was it that, that her father had disliked about him? She loved her father and his calm and patient demeanor but no one could have denied his stiffness when it came to humour. His own brand of it had been very solemn. As everything about him, perhaps.

 

Once upon a time, she'd have found his tone improper. She hardly cared for such things now.

 

“I would prefer to think that your decision is the reason you have come here rather than to rush to the conclusion that you just like to stare at women.” She perked an eyebrow. “Wouldn't you?”

 

He narrowed his eyes briefly before he leaned his hip against the wall once more. Looking at him, she thought back to the time Joffrey had stood in a similar position and she had moved to push him, not caring if she went down with him. Though the resemblance was far fetched, Jaime Lannister did not resemble his children, his sister or even Tyrion Lannister, how she remembered him to be anyway. The older Lannister man was rugged, his hair dark than the golden they used to be, his beard as well, was streaked with barely visible signs of of grey.

 

“I wonder if I should call you my good sister? As I recall, you were married to my brother.”

 

She brushed her thumb against the snow. “Your memory may not be very good then. As _I_ recall, Lady Brienne would have informed you that I meant to take Winterfell back from my husband, Ramsay Bolton, during your siege at Riverrun.”

 

He didn't bristle as most men did when a woman insulted their intelligence. “Ah, yes. How did the bastard Bolton meet his end? I hear his house died the very day you and your brother retook Winterfell. Did the stoic King Jon deliver the blow himself?”

 

Sansa wasn't particularly fond of the direction of his questions. “No, I did.”

 

The repeated action of the narrowing of his eyes. Did he do that often, she wondered or was the North just that much of a shock to his southern ways? She didn't care to ask and she didn't care to push off the decision either.

 

“I recall you claiming that you didn't have much of a mind for small talk, Ser Jaime. I have begun to lose patience with it as well, so let us hear it.” For the first time, she finally turned to look at him. It took her aback once more as she failed to compare him to any of the men she had met before. Maybe with time…

 

If his decision is to stay, that is.

 

He looked out, over the wall and she noticed a scar trailing down his neck and disappearing in to his armor. He had broad shoulders as well, not frail like those of Joffrey or Tywin Lannister. Even Cersei had better form than them.

 

He cleared his throat, returning her gaze. “I cannot swear fealty to House Stark or the North, I cannot trust a force so large and vague. I won't pledge myself to any King, Queen or anyone of the sort ever again. _I will_ however–”

 

Sansa had begun to nod, strangely able to understand his reasons. Jon was her brother and she loved him but she wouldn't mind if another ruler came in his place, if they were better and had the North’s best interests at heart. She only bowed to her home now, no man or woman or God. A place could not hurt her. People could.

 

“–Pledge myself to you.” He fixed his stare on her intently and she struggled to maintain herself. Of course, there was immense surprise but she allowed only a brief flash of it in her eyes. “Yes, yes, it's quite funny. A Lannister sworn to a Stark, perhaps the biggest joke there could be but it is, in my eyes, the only viable solution. The only way I can fight this war without committing myself to a place and house whose people rightfully despise me.”

 

It was her who narrowed her eyes in this instance. “Ser Jaime, surely you understand that swearing to me would entail protecting me, not running off to fight with rest.” She unconsciously moved closer to him. He gave no reaction to it, ducking his head to meet her eyes.

 

“You are in Winterfell, my dear Lady. Protecting you might require more than the people who will be _running off._ ”

 

The corner of her lip lifted, just for a moment before she could even realize it had. She schooled her features just as quickly but his eyes cat like eyes followed every little movement obediently. She suddenly felt an immense sadness at the fact that this was what her life would be from now on, constantly hiding, lying, deceiving. But Littlefinger would face his end soon enough, would she end up like him as well?

 

She couldn't, not after everything she'd survived. Right then, she decided that she would not follow in his footsteps, she would not live a lie. She'd already taken a step in the right direction by not making power the one goal in her life, unlike Petyr.

 

It would take time but she'd become Sansa once more, not the girl who loved songs but not the sweet liar in King's Landing, not Alayne Stone, not the toy that belonged to Ramsay, but Sansa Stark who held a piece of them all but was not them at the same time.

 

“Where does your mind wander off to?” Jaime Lannister cut in to her thoughts once more and she realized that she had once again, fallen in to the trail of fear.

 

She rushed to change the direction of their discussion. “If I were to accept, Lady Brienne is still my sworn sword.” She reminded, her mind traveling fondly to the tall woman.

 

“She still has your sister. Brienne swore to protect the Stark girls, surely my being there wouldn't change that.”

 

“Are you sure you could handle being in such a position, Ser Jaime? From Lord Commander to following around a lady?”

 

Something haunted and sad passed over him, a small crease appearing between his brows before he smoothed them all out. He wasn't very good at hiding his emotions, something she found herself appreciating.

 

“I am not a knight, there's no need for the title.”

 

Sansa took a step with an air of defiance. “Very well, _Ser_ Jaime. Your sword.”

 

He smiled, a dangerous little things as pulled out his sword and dropped to one knee. “Whatever my Lady demands.” And the teasing in his voice did nothing to quell her uncertainty though it made her even more curious to see where this led.

 

They said their vows and once he was upright, he bowed. Sansa nodded, clasping her hands, brushing past the man to head back to her duties. After a moment, he followed but stopped abruptly as Sansa did in front of him.

 

“Ser Jaime?” She called, voice uncharacteristically soft.

 

His tone was no different than hers. “Yes, Lady Sansa?”

 

“If your intentions here are anything other than what you have said and if you were to succeed in said hypothetical plans, you would be condemning yourself to a life of fear, if you manage to make it out in the first place, that is.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They set in to a routine easily enough, though there were moments Sansa had felt an immeasurable amount of fear the first few times she had been alone with him, he offered her nothing but bored sighs and blunt comments. Sansa often found herself wanting to chuckle and did snort more than was a appropriate. She had never met anyone like him, so blunt and straight to the point without being downright vile, as the Hound had been. Though, Sandor had a certain charm to him as well. Arya strongly disagreed.

 

As expected, Lord Baelish was not pleased with this recent development which he said clearly after the great hall was empty and had no one but the three of them. Littlefinger glanced at Ser Jaime with indifference.

 

“How the times have changed.” He commented, coming to stand in front of her. “You won't be required here, Ser Jaime.” He turned away from him dismissively.

 

Ser Jaime didn't move.

 

Sansa leaned back in her chair and glanced at Jamie, he simply raised an eyebrow in response. She sighed, raising her hand. “Speak freely, Petyr.”

 

Something falsely soft twisted his features. “Surely after your years in King's Landing, you wouldn't dare trust a Lannister with your secrets, Lady Sansa.”

 

Sansa could not help the coldness in her voice. “I decide who will learn my secrets and who will not, Lord Baelish. Please speak what you must, I have duties to attend to.”

 

He took it easily enough, he still thought she was going through a phase where she was angry at him for selling her to the Boltons. As if it was something she would forgive him for in a fortnight and then marry him as well.

 

Littlefinger brought up the note Arya had found and their argument which caused distress to flash across her features. They discussed her motives and Sansa confessed that she knew that Arya would kill her for Jon any second.

 

It was all a lie but the truth slipped out anyway.

 

“What could the reason be behind her wanting to kill you?”

 

Sansa's eyes were blank. “To become the Lady of Winterfell.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Later, she walked back to her solar and purposefully left the door open, taking a seat and pouring two cups of wine. She closed her eyes, listening to the crackling of the fire, the clank of Ser Jaime’s armor as he shut the door and came to stand next to her. He dutifully picked his glass of wine.

 

“If I may be plain, Lady Sansa.” He said from behind her.

 

She didn't open her eyes. “Only if you sit down.”

 

He did so. Some part of her mind constantly itched with the need to look at him, sitting so vulnerable beside a Lannister could surely only mean death but she stuck to her earlier promise to separate herself from being like those who hurt her in whatever way she could.

 

“–ady Sansa?” Her eyes fluttered open and she found Ser Jaime gazing at her expectantly. “Did you fall asleep on me?” He asked playfully.

 

She smiled apologetically and shook her head. He sighed. “We'll have to do something about your gazing off, some might take offense. Not me, of course, I simply live to serve my Lady.” He said, ever so loyal.

 

Sansa perked up an amused eyebrow. “You were about to speak plainly?”

 

He tore his eye from hers. “Oh, yes. I was going to tell you that I have heard from multiple sources that you are intelligent.” His golden hand made a noise as it brushed against the chair. “Yet when I see you falling into Baelish’s words faster than a man on a whore, I find myself questioning them. Repeatedly.”

 

“Ah,” Sansa smiled, draining her cup. “So you're conflicted between deciding whether I'm an idiot or smart as people have told you.”

 

He gave a gesture with his head to say he she hit the mark. Sansa failed to hide her amusement though an inkling of sadness trickled in. “People have told me I must be good at the game to have survived among my enemies for so long.” She tilted her head, eyes drawn to the fire. “Most of the time, I believe them. Sometimes, I think it was just my luck.”

 

He felt his gaze piercing her. “There are worse fates than surviving.”

 

Oh, didn't Sansa know?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jaime Lannister stood by silently as Sansa Stark overlooked the same place she did almost everyday. Her cloak covered get head and she seemed to be in deep thought. He had subconsciously made the decision to keep her from falling into her thoughts as she often did.

 

But today it seemed she stood there for the sole reason of thinking. He tried to look at what she did but his eyes could not stop themselves from falling on her. She looked ethereal, he had never seen anyone who looked like the personification of snow like she did.

 

The Starks were all about winter yet their look was entirely the opposite, painfully apparent in the snow. But Sansa, if not for her copper hair, could become a part of the cold if she stood in it long enough. If winter came in a woman's body, she'd look like Sansa Stark.

 

After what seemed like ages of Jaime freezing his arse off, Sansa turned to leave without pause. “Have my sister brought to the Great Hall.” And disappeared. Jaime breathed out a cloud of air and followed.

 

Despite the silent communication he'd seen between the sisters the first day of his arrival, it had been like a switch had been flipped. There were suspicious glances, curt exchanges and then the argument over some letter the younger Stark girl had found. It didn't seem like a very loving relationship and Lady Sansa would slump in her chair, staring at fire and gulping down wine until she fell asleep.

 

She never went to bed, he noted and she also never told him to stand outside her chambers, always leaving the door open and filling a glass of wine for him as well. At first he'd left her on the chair and would simply take his place outside the door after she would start quietly snoring. Though once he himself witnessed how comfortable it was, he had taken to moving her to her bed.

 

If she had minded, she had never mentioned it so Jaime continued doing it. He knew all too well the struggles of catching sleep like any common person would do and well, if what he'd heard of Lady Sansa's marriage was true, she had more than enough reason to prefer an uncomfortable chair over the bed.

 

She was rid of her cloak now, he saw as he took his place behind her. Her younger brother sat next to her as stoic and unfeeling as ever. Arya Stark, who he had brought with him stood calmly as the doors were shut and men of the Vale stood blocking her from each side.

 

Jaime felt an uncomfortable curiosity, the short time in which he'd known Sansa Stark showed that she was deeply loyal to the North and to her family. No matter how quickly the Lords and Ladies ate everything she offered up, he found it fairly easy to read her now that he'd spent a bit of time with her. She couldn't kill her sister, it wasn't in her nature. Didn't wolves protect each other?

 

Then again, people he'd thought he knew better had done rasher things.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The young girl asked, hands joined behind her, her sword resting comfortably on her waist.

 

“It’s not what I want, it's what honor demands.” Sansa answered solemnly, at that moment, resembling her father and Robb Stark greatly.

 

“And what does honor demand?”

 

“That I protect my family from those who would harm us, that I protect the North from those who would betray us.” Lady Sansa pushed back her shoulders, her eyes screaming finality. “You stand accused of murder, you stand accused of treason, how do you answer these charges . . . Lord Baelish?”

 

Jaime visibly jerked, no different than the man in question, who looked as if someone had pulled the rug from under him. He narrowed his eyes, glancing between Sansa and Arya. Absolute polar opposites yet undeniably daughters of the North. Sansa sat, quiet and strong and Arya stood smug and quick.

 

“My sister asked you a question.” She tilted her head, her tone ever condescending.

 

Baelish snapped into action, lies flowing from his mouth one after another, as smooth as honey. Lady Sansa's face gave nothing away, not even to Jaime as he watched, entranced as this all took place.

 

“Let's start with the simplest charge, you killed my Aunt Lysa by pushing her down the moon door and watched her fall, do you deny it?” Sansa leaned forward, her hands clasped. Baelish crosses the room, facing Sansa.

 

“You gave Lysa tears of Lys to poison Jon Arryn and sent a letter to our parents telling them that it was the Lannisters who murdered him when really it was you.” Her eyes flashed. “The conflict between the Stark and the Lannisters, it was you who started it, do you deny it?”

 

Jaime felt as surprised as Littlefinger did, thought it was most likely for different reasons. He had never heard of any of this, had never known that this little rat of a man who he had never considered a threat was the reason the Stark and Lannister family went to war and were nearly extinct. He tightened his fists as Sansa continued.

 

 “You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray our father, Ned Stark. Thanks to your treachery he was imprisoned and later executed on false charges of treason, _do you deny it_?” Her voice cracked and he thought he saw her eyes grow wet.

 

“I deny it!” Baelish barked, spreading his arms. “None of you were there, none of you know what happened.”

 

“You held a knife to his throat,” Bran Stark cut in quietly. “You said, I did warn you not to trust me.”

 

This time, Jaime saw actual burning fear in Petyr Baelish’s eyes as he stood speechless, behind him, Arya Stark pulled out a dagger. “You told our mother, this dagger belonged to Tyrion Lannister but that was another one of your lies.”

 

He stumbled forward, right at Lady Sansa and Jaime moved closer to her. He began to beg, aiming for her emotions, his love, his protection. She dismissed them all. Lord Royce looked as if he would kill him himself but simply denied his request for protection.

 

Baelish fell to his knees, now crying. Jaime watched Sansa as she stood upright. “I'm a slow learner, it's true. _But_ I learn.” She looked down at him and there was no cruelty, no happiness. “When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there was no justice in the world, not unless I make it.”

 

She gave a brief nod to Arya. Littlefinger paled further. “Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish, I will never forget them.”

 

“Lady Sansa–” He began once more but ended up choking on his own blood as Arya Stark slit his throat in the blink of an eye.

 

Jaime could do nothing but stare at the events taking place in front of him.

 

 

 

 

 

That night as he walked her to his chambers, she walked as if she carried the world on her shoulders and her stride was slow, sluggish. She stumbled in to her chair and immediately closed her eyes. Though, when she reached for her wine, her fingers jerked as they touched something moist.

 

Jaime watched, leaning against the closed door as she stares at the plate with shock, her fingers hovering over them as if in disbelief. She turned to him, her lips parted, her blue eyes glistening. He realized she most likely had more than a simple liking for the treat.

 

“You mentioned you like them.” He shrugged indifferently, moving to sit next to her. “I have my ways.” He winked, plopping one in to his mouth. She followed his action and it finally seemed to set in that it was real.

 

He was not ready for her delighted gasp of ‘Lemon Cakes!’ as she betrayed all of her ladylike manners and snatched the plate in to her lap and devoured one in a single bite. He watched that grin carefully as well as those lips that quivered for a reason he did not know.

 

He was also not ready for the moan as she bit in to the second one. He found himself laying his head against the chair, watching her with an unwavering gaze and ignoring the heat in his stomach as her noises grew more . . . Pleased.

 

He had finally succeeded, it seemed. Succeeded in breaking down the cold exterior and bringing forth the girl who he knew lived somewhere deep inside. He hadn't expected a reaction quite as lively as this though, Sansa had entirely forgotten that he was there and well, he hadn't seen her eat much in his time there but she didn't hesitate on her journey towards emptying her plate.

 

Jaime reached for his sword as the door burst open but relaxed when he saw it was only Brienne. “ _Lady Sansa._ ” She sounded scandalized. So would have Jamie, if he had heard the sounds the Lady had been making had he not had the context.

 

Though, Brienne’s eyes only grew fond as she saw Sansa making her way through the cakes. Jaime shared an amused look with her. The girl, on the other hand, finally seemed to come to her senses, though not enough to lose her smile.

 

She patted the seat next to her and Brienne sat down and they both listened attentively as she told her about how Old Nan introduced her to the cakes and how her father always left a plate on her bedside table on her name days. She talked even when her plate was empty but eventually began to grew sleepy. Jaime and Brienne stood in unison and to his surprise, Sansa stumbled up as well. He could not begin to understand how Lemon Cakes had gotten her more drunk than the wine she drank everyday.

 

He felt sorry for himself as he was faced with hopefully the last shock of the day when Sansa threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss against his cheek. He shared another look with Brienne, who seemed to now be watching them carefully.

 

Jaime easily carried her to bed where she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and could not help but brush away a strand of hair away from her face before shutting the door quietly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Tell me, Ser Jaime. Do you love your sister still?” Brienne asked the next day as they stood next to each other, watching the Stark children have their meal. Arya and Sansa were arguing in a way only siblings could with Bran offering short commentary in between.

 

Jaime is only a little surprised, he knew the question had been coming and he had been asking himself the same thing too many times as well. It had damn near driven him to madness. It wasn't random either, there was a specific reason for his almost insanity.

 

 _Bloody Starks_ , he thought broodily, _always causing moral dilemmas._

 

He would have been offended had it been anyone else asking the question even though he had raised the topic to himself repeatedly, hearing it from someone else is an different thing entirely. But this was Brienne, honest, loyal and fiercely stubborn, Brienne. Perhaps his first true friend in the world, it was hard to find loyal men even before he had become the Kingslayer but after that there was no one who didn't call him by that name behind his back.

 

Brienne had never judged him, she was no idiot, she no doubt knew and had heard all of the things people said about him but had never brought it up. Come to think of it, neither had Lady Sansa. Not even what he had done to her brother, though he had tried to apologize to him.

 

“I think a part of me always will.”

 

To her credit, Brienne didn't give much of a reaction, just glanced at him. “The rest?”

 

He downed half of his wine in go, eyes placed firmly on the copper head of hair which turned to return his look with a gentle smile before turning back towards her siblings.

 

Lady Brienne sighed and Jaime knew she knew. He was a bit relieved at not having to say it. He needed to come in to terms with it himself. He had known nothing but his sister his entire life but Seven Hells, he hadn't known anything but the King's Guard and being Lord Commander either but here he was.

 

Jaime had never been one of the men who had had ‘women problems’ and the men had scoffed at him for turning them down. You cannot have much of a problem if you're lover is your sister, can you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sansa had just gotten away from the great hall and the overbearing chatter when a man came running about another visitor demanding to see her. She sighed and told him to just bring him to the terrace, she had no interest in going back for the rest of the day.

 

“You sit on that damned chair so bloody much, I reckon one day your arse will just fall off.” Ser Jaime offered cheerfully, a few steps away from her.

 

Sansa breathed out and turned to look at him blankly, for a moment, two moments, three moments . . . Before she burst out laughing. Ser Jaime didn't look at all moved by either reaction and just looked on as if he hadn't just said something so ridiculous. He rarely mentioned any of the reactions he caused but she would sometimes notice the pleased glint in his eyes.

 

“My Lady,” The man came back, out of breath as usual. She wasn't sure what he did that he was always so restless but she told him to take the day off anyway. He left, looking shocked, leaving behind two of their men and their surprise visitor.

 

Sansa's mind immediately snapped trying to place exactly who this man was as she caught sight of him. He looked vaguely familiar, his clothing was different, hair longer maybe? She opened her mouth to ask his identity when he beat her to it.

 

“There you are, you little fucker.” She blanched in surprise and Ser Jaime who had been uncharacteristically quiet until now stepped forward, cursing.

 

“Bronn,” He claimed, his voice held surprise. “What in the seven hells are you doing here?”

 

Ah, so that's who he was. Tyrion's friend, the sellsword, who had refused to fight for him during his trial. Sansa had thought it better him than Oberyn Martell. She hadn't known the Dornish man long but he had shown brief acts of kindness towards her. Despite his reputation as a man who had had _interactions,_ if you will, with almost half the population of the world, she hadn't felt any ulterior motives when he'd complimented her one day in the gardens and given her a rose, when he'd told her she reminded him of winter itself, when he kissed her forehead when he found her sobbing after the Red Wedding.

 

The worst one always live though, that's why Bronn was alive, that's why the Mountain, no matter in what state, was alive. And clever, sweet Oberyn died a painful and gut wrenching death at the hands of the same man who had raped and murdered his sister and her children.

 

“Your sister sent the bloody Mountain after me when you left, the big bastard damn near got me.”

 

 _Aye, the worst one always live_.

 

“I apologize, but when did Winterfell become a place of refuge for every person who leaves King's Landing?” Sansa couldn't help the cold that bled in to her voice.

 

Bronn turned to look at her, as if only now noticing she was there. Jaime began to say something but she held up her hand up. “State your business, now.”

 

“Why do you bloo–”

 

Ser Jaime cut in just as Sansa's gaze began to harden it to something unforgiving and cool, blocking hey view of Bronn and presenting himself instead. She wasn't sure how but it must have worked because she felt the rising anger bleed out of her as Ser Jaime obviously began to cover up the sellsword’s less than pleasant attitude.

 

She wondered how a man who looked so much like a Lannister, who was a Lannister could be her only source of joy or happiness in these still days. She had Winterfell now, yes but this was the first time she had settled enough for her scars to bite in to her skin and try to drag her down.

 

“What he means is, would the beautiful and merciful Lady of Winterfell please grant this pathetic excuse of a man to fight in the coming war in the North?” There was the beginning of a interjection before it was cut off with a yelp.

 

“Yes, that's exactly what I meant.” The man agreed from behind Jaime, almost petulant. Sansa should turn him away but there's something akin to desperation in Ser Jaime’s eyes. Maybe he had been lonely and wanted someone from home with him.

 

Sansa sighed, eyes trained on Jaime’s. Despite his opposing reputation, his green eyes were honest, just like his words. She truly believed he had not once lied to her and she appreciated it more than anything in the world. She had been surrounded by liars for so long, she didn't realize how tiring it had been.

 

“Very well.” She clasped her hands and Jaime bowed his head slightly and she saw the barely concealed smile. “But the third time will be where I cross the line, Ser Jaime.”

 

“Why of course, Lady Sansa.” He replied obediently thought his tone was anything but. She believed he didn't have much of a control over how condescending he sounded sometimes, thankfully it didn't cause her irritation as it did often when Jon tried to act like she was foolish little girl.

 

He accompanied her to the Godswood. She sat by a tree, hidden from the view of anyone else, something she never did but she did not have the energy to stand anymore. She loosened her braid until her hair hung free on her shoulders and back.

 

“He won't cause any trouble, will he?” She opened her eyes and found Ser Jaime leaning against a tree, already watching her.

 

“Not the dangerous kind.”

 

Sansa nodded, she'd take it. She licked her lips and glanced at Ser Jaime. “You make me feel quite stupid when you stand over me like that,” She muttered, perking up her eye brow. “Just like my septa used to.”

 

There was an unexpected pain in her heart when she remembered the same woman's head on a spike next to her father's. Ser Jaime frowned. “Well, I don't want to be a septa, do I?” He sat down on the snow with an awkward thunk of his armor.

 

Sansa yawned, glancing down at her dress which had pooled around her. “My brother and the Dragon Queen ride for Winterfell.” She said quietly, settling her head against the tree.

 

“Will you bend the knee to her?” He asked, leaning forward.

 

“Jon is the King and he already has.”

 

“But you're the lady of Winterfell, you're the rightful heir not him.”

 

Sansa covered another yawn. “Jon will do what's best for us, he's the one who has seen and fought the Night King's army and we need Daenerys and her dragons for that.”

 

More movement, Sansa watched as Ser Jaime moved closer to her, he was obviously trying to make a point. “Have you ever seen a man burn, Sansa? Have you heard his screams as it happened?”

 

She hadn't. “I have. I watched thousands of men, who I lead, who fought with me, be burned alive by Daenerys’ dragons. And she burned those who refused to betray House Lannister as well.”

 

It wasn't as if Sansa didn't understand his pain but she understood why Daenerys did it as well, she would never pick that route herself but the Lannisters were her enemy, they wouldn't hesitate to cut her army down, she shouldn't either. The Lannisters had been killing their enemies for as long as they had been a house, she wouldn't feel sorry for them.

 

But she did for him.

 

“I'm sorry, Ser Jaime.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. He sighed, snapping out of his memories and dropped his head.

 

“You should kill me, for all the pain my family has brought to yours.”

 

“I am no God, Jaime.” She rarely said his name without his title as the knight he used to be. “There is nothing to forgive, not from me.”

 

“How could you say that? You are the one who ought to hate me the most!”

 

“Do you hate me for killing your son?”

 

A strange emotion flashed across his face. “Did you?”

 

She smiled bitterly. “No but I certainly wish I had. I used to dream of placing his head on a spike like he did my father and septa and had forced me to watch. Do you hate me?”

 

“No.” He said quietly.

 

“Then neither do I.”

 

“Are you sure?” He questioned.

 

Her smile this time was soft. “I am.” Her hair bellowed with the wind. Ser Jaime followed a strand with his eyes. He traced her face with his gaze and she felt a flush spread down her neck.

 

He flashed her a rare, happy grin. “A grave mistake.”

 

Then he kissed her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You won't try to kill her again, will you?” Sansa asked, plucking at her fingers, a nervous habit. Ser Jaime didn't answer but moved to cover her. Sansa looked up and found the reason. A large, mighty shape darkened the floor under its form and Sansa jerked in surprise, something Jaime had predicted beforehand.

 

Eyes still on the Dragon, she wondered if Ser Jaime had figured her out so easily. After years of practice and lies, even her own brother had trouble seeking her true emotions. But it had taken approximately two days for Jaime Lannister to do so.

 

As they saw small shapes from afar, Jaime let go of her but didn't move away. Sansa was comforted by his presence, firm stance and hard muscle pressing against her back. She squeezed her fingers too tight, thinking of the day he had pressed her against the bed and kissed her until she was dizzy.

 

They hadn't gone further, Sansa hadn't dared. The memory was too fresh, the memory of what was done to her and Ser Jaime had not even raised the question once he had seen her eyes glazing over, lost in terrible, terrible memories of crackling fire and a ripped white dress.

 

Theon stood next to them, quiet, so different than the loud and boisterous boy who made inappropriate comments and was too cocky for most to handle. He did not look like he used to in the Greyjoy armor but did not look like Reek either. He was something different, someone brave yet kind, Sansa thought he looked rather handsome this way.

 

People began to dismount and soon enough, Arya and Bran were reuniting with Jon. It was emotional and though she was very happy, she was undeniably saddened knowing Jon would have been much more happier if it had been Bran or Arya who had come to him at the Wall.

 

When she was young, she hadn't cared much for fitting in with her siblings though even then it had hurt when she saw her siblings laughing at her behind her back. Even father chuckled sometimes. Mother had always been proud of her, yes but she didn't look at her with the fondness she held for Arya after she'd ruined her dress or scraped her knees, there had always been love with the anger.

 

She wondered if anyone in her family loved her as they did each other, had being the perfect Lady been the reason she had not fit in with them? Why she had always dreamt of leaving?

 

Sansa's shoulders shook with the sudden solemn thoughts and she would have struck herself if she could, tears weren't something to be shown to others especially not now, it would only make her seem weak.

 

Jon's gaze found her at last and Sansa couldn't read happiness or any other emotion, she couldn't often tell what he was thinking when she was concerned, opposite to the clear joy that had resided on his face a moment before. She felt Ser Jaime’s hand press in to her back out of sight, so firm and reassuring that she wished nothing but to be in his arms.

 

Jon, watching Jaime still, walked in to her hug. She didn't feel the same love she had that cold day on the wall, not from him anyway, still she hung on to him. It was brief but over his shoulder she found the gaze of the woman who could be none other than Daenerys Targaryen.

 

She moved away from Jon, her head held high and both the women held their gazes. She knew everyone thought they would clash, fire against ice, not like Jon who it had turned out was fire as well, a Targaryen.

 

Sansa took the first step, “I welcome you to Winterfell, Daenerys Stormborn.”

 

The woman seemed surprised at the lack of scorn in her voice and followed in Sansa's footsteps, drawing closer. “I look forward to our meeting, Lady Stark. I hope we can be strong allies, if not friends.”

 

“As do I.” And Sansa flashed her a rare, genuine smile. No doubt she was beautiful, her silver hair was in intricate braids, falling down her shoulders, her bright eyes much like Sansa's melting with pale skin. She was shorter than Jon and Sansa towered over them both.

 

Daenerys narrowed her eyes at Ser Jaime but before she could speak, a cheerful voice cut in. Sansa looked past her to see a short form walking towards them, arms spread.

 

“My dear wife, look at you!” It was Tyrion Lannister, she had almost forgotten that he would arrive along with Jon and the Queen. Sansa grinned and bent to greet him properly. “It's a good thing we separated when we did, how embarrassing it would have been. You have grown taller than your brother.”

 

Sansa pulled back. “You look well, Lord Tyrion. Facial hair suits you as well.” She offered and he shared a rather mischievous glance with Jaime.

 

“I was right after all, my Lady. You survived us _and_ more, leading suits you.” She glanced at Daenerys to see if that had upset her but she looked at them happily. Sansa smiled at her once more.

 

“I'm afraid we have to cut this reunion short. We have grave news and no time to waste.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After Sansa had told them everything about Cersei and Littlefinger, Arya, Bran and Samwell Tarly left to privately inform Jon of his true heritage while Sansa was sitting in Daenerys’ solar due to her request. Ser Jaime, much to his disappointment, had to stand _outside_ the door and with Ser Jorah Mormont. She could only imagine how that was going. . 

 

Daenerys sipped her wine. “May I call you Sansa, my Lady?”

 

Sansa nodded in reply. “Then you may call me Daenerys.”

 

“I am aware that you are the true heir to Winterfell. I have also noted along with Tyrion that the lords and ladies prefer you over your brother. You seem better at rule as well.” Sansa paused, unsure how to answer.

 

“I don't have much doubt you will be a good Queen, as well.” She continued. Sansa swallowed. They were walking on very thin ice.

 

“Daenerys.” Sansa began before she cold say anymore. “I will speak plainly. I know my siblings, especially Jon think me power-hungry but all I have ever wanted is to escape the people who have kept me hostage half of my life. I was sold from one person to another, I was beaten every day by Joffrey Baratheon, I was raped by my husband Ramsay Bolton everyday of our marriage, I have been threatened and treated like a broodmare, used and used and used.”

 

Her eyes were glistening as she went on and Daenerys and placed her glass down and had moved to sit close to Sansa, right in front of her. “When I was little I wished to be Queen but I want nothing less now, all I want is peace and to protect the North like all the Starks have before me but actually succeed. I don't want the throne, I wish to remain as I am now, ruling Winterfell among my siblings.”

 

Daenerys was nodding attentively and once Sansa stopped speaking to catch her breath, she reached forward and wiped her tears with gentle hands. Her touch felt similar to the way her mother's had, but smoother, softer.

 

“You will suffer no more, Sansa. I know what it is like to be nothing but a pawn to be sold or raped or beaten. _I know_ , sweetling. As your queen, I give the North over to you. I know there is no one more capable, we will announce it tomorrow.”

 

Sansa's brows furrowed. “Announce what, Daenerys?”

 

She smiled. “You will be the Queen in the North, you will hold the North for me as the Starks have for thousands of years.”

 

She reached forward and Sansa clasped her arm.

And so an agreement rose out of a soon to be born friendship. Sansa's heart felt warm and despite the coming war, she had never felt more content.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Jon has sent word.” Sansa said, pacing the length of her chambers. Jaime watched with a lazy gaze from the bed. She looked at him. “They're coming.”

 

He knew. He knew but he would hold on to these moments with all he had, with _everything_. He rose and took her in his arms, she was shaking and fearful, they all were. She had been crowned Queen In The North by Daenerys Targaryen. She had looked so beautiful with a crown of ice matching her eyes.

 

He thought she could have frozen him but when her gaze found him, there had only been kindness and warmth. Later, he had danced with her and Jaime thought he hadn't felt peace like this every since he had killed Aerys.

 

They had ignored Jon's burning gaze, Tyrion's curiosity and the Lords’ distaste. Sansa had accepted Daenerys’ congratulations with a sweet smile even though the woman had shot a protective glare at Jaime.

 

And now the war was here and Jaime knew very well they could both die and he struggled to accept it. But he must, he must for her, for the life they could have together.

 

“It seems it's going to get very cold.” Jaime smirked, despite the situation.

 

Sansa kissed him desperately. “Do not die.”

 

He began to say something but she held on him with trembling arms. “I am ordering you to _not die,_ Ser Jaime. Or I will have Arya kill you myself.”

 

Jaime managed a smile, feeling oddly emotional. “Whatever my Lady demands."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me your thoughts! This is my first Jaimsa and Game Of Thrones fic, especially one so long. I'd love to hear what you guys think.


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